


Tenth Christmas

by tatooedlaura



Series: Christmas [11]
Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: Christmas in Minnesota ...





	

Mulder was so tired, he could barely see straight. He’d been working as a lumberman in the woods of northern Minnesota for the past three months, so he was used to the work but today had been extra cold, extra windy and everything seemed extra heavy, given the layers he had on and the fact that the snow was nearly three feet deep in spots. Not about to complain, however, given the extra money he was getting for working the holidays, he took a two-minute breather, then got back to it, cutting, trimming, moving, settling, tying, climbing, checking, trudging, to begin again.

Scully had scored herself a job on the janitorial staff of the local school system and was there now, cleaning the high school over break, making things neat and orderly for the return of the 1000 students come the end of winter break. He questioned her motives for applying and taking the job, given it was fairly far beneath her, but as she reminded him with a smile, he thought everything was beneath her, including him much of the time. She then told him she needed the contact, the interaction with the outside world, a conversation with someone other than him, no offense of course.

He hadn’t taken any, knowing it was harder for her than him to live the solitary lifestyle. She’d come from a boisterous, loud, bouncing family and to plunge her into single-interaction insanity wasn’t healthy in the long run. It took him almost a year to convince her she needed more than telemarketing jobs and data-entry positions that allowed her to work from home.

The Gunmen, long before the thought of running was a glint in Mulder’s eye, had begun making identifications for them. They’d created entirely new people, histories, allergies, likes, dislikes, dental visits, prescription refills, bad credit, maiden names, social security numbers, ATM cards, storage lockers and a myriad of other things that only paranoid, long-haired, suit-wearing funny named men could think of. After they finally filled Mulder in, Mulder began filling those accounts with money squirreled away from two inheritances, well-picked stock trades and living like a pauper for several decades.

Scully didn’t get in on the act until after Mulder had been abducted. She had a very frank conversation with Byers and Frohike while Langley, who was a surprisingly good cook, made them all a taco pie she would kill for everyday if necessary. They worked out a few kinks and soon, knowing something would have to give eventually with the situation, she was squirreling as well.

The pair of them tried not to touch any more of their savings after the first few months, deciding that odd jobs could bankroll their meager existence. Scully picked up several doing the aforementioned phone work and data entry while Mulder went the handyman/mowing lawns/painting houses route. Mulder’s paid under the table while Scully could have her checks automatically deposited into one of their fake checking accounts. All in all, they figured it out.

They became adept at being together and being apart from everyone else.

They learned to carry on conversations without delving too deeply into the past.

They learned that they only had each other.

Then they slowly began to learn to function apart.

Scully went to the smaller church in town and got a library card, making friends with the librarians while Mulder went to the woods. Scully needed people while Mulder needed to fire up a chainsaw and cut shit down, carving up a tree as he carved his past from his life.

All but Scully.

He kept her close.

She kept him closer.

Nights were quiet, filled with cards and movies and books and knitting and crossword puzzles and writing on Mulder’s part and learning on Scully’s. She decided one day she wanted to learn how to whittle. God knows why, Mulder thought, but he watched her determinedly wielding a pocketknife like it was scalpel. She accepted the blocks of wood he brought home after a day in the woods and eventually began turning them into chess pieces. When she was done with that, she began making blocks for the kindergarten and first grades, sanding edges, smoothing planes into several sets of alphanumerical squares that she donated by simply leaving them on the school steps at dawn.

She then began a secret project, one she did while sitting in the bathtub of their monthly-rental unit, able to keep her endgame hidden from Mulder by pulling the shower curtain shut when he had to pee.

It amused him and kept her mind occupied, which is all he could really ask for from the world he dragged her into. He’d stopped feeling guilty for taking her with him but he never quite got over it, so he brought her chunks of oak, cedar, pine as penance for his sins.

That Christmas Eve, he made it home after her, finding her cooking in their small kitchenette, ham and potatoes, bowl of jiggling red Jell-O on the side. “Christmas Dinner already? I thought we were doing that tomorrow?”

“This is just something quick. Tomorrow, I’ll make that small turkey I got and we’ll have stuffing and corn. It’ll be like Thanksgiving but … more Christmas-y.”

He grinned, sidling up to kiss her before disappearing to the shower to eliminate that day’s sweat and grime. Emerging 10 minutes later, he ate the filled plate she handed him, then filled again when he asked. Once he’d finished his Jell-O, he noticed her staring at him, her bottom lip half-pulled between her teeth, a question wanting to escape but held back by berry red lips. Putting the spoon down, he gave her a gently smile, his eyes soft, his face languid, “you, little miss, have a question to ask so spill it before you explode.”

“Would you like to come to church with me tonight? I mean, you don’t have to but I just … I’d like it if you did. I haven’t gone to Christmas mass alone … ever, really and ….”

The end of her sentence evaporated into the fragrant, honey-ham air of the room as she began to think this was a really stupid request.

He stopped her, though, before she got too anxious, talking herself out of something he had yet to say, “I would love to go with you.”

Relief flooded through her and he received her happiest smile, dimly lit by the one crappy overhead kitchen light, her eyebrows curving slightly along with the corners of her lips. “You sure?”

“As long as you know that the whole being struck by lightning the moment I walk in the place is still a viable possibility.”

“I don’t mind.”

&&&&&&&&&&

He took a short nap before they left and he felt fairly awake when they walked quietly into the church. It was a low building, decked outside with wreaths and lights and Nativity scene and decked inside with trees, pine garland, bows, angels and a particular smell that Mulder couldn’t seem to get enough of. Once they were seated, she leaned over, telling him in a hushed voice, “you keep breathing like that and you’ll pass out in the next four minutes, I guarantee.”

“Then what is that smell?”

Scully took her own deep breath, “incense, pine, candle wax, snuffed matches and cinnamon.”

“That’s a hell of a nose you’ve got.”

“Don’t say hell, Mul- Jake. It’s church and you don’t need to invite the lightning.”

Mulder reached his hand over, capturing hers and squeezing it tightly, letting her know the near-mistake would be okay. It wasn’t enough to send them running like it might have in the earlier days but Scully still felt the panic rising in her chest, the comfort of his hand soothing but not eliminating the tightness in her belly.

They sat in silence as the church filled up around them. There were more people than Scully had expected but there was plenty of room between families and individuals that she didn’t feel crowded and overwhelmed and realizing this, relaxed a little and led Mulder through the Catholic rituals of midnight mass, complete with hand-holding, kneeling and boisterous carol singing, Mulder’s voice blending in seamlessly.

She’d have to ask him about his secret singing abilities when they got back home.

After communion, after the kneeling, during the sitting but before the standing and the praying, she felt Mulder’s head land on her shoulder. For a moment, she expected him to whisper something else to her, possibly asking when in the world this whole affair would be over but instead, he remained silent, asleep instead, eyes closed, cheek settled, breathing steady.

She didn’t have the heart to wake him to stand when the time came so she self-consciously sat, mouthing the prayers and holding his hand. Even the last of the celebratory singing didn’t wake him nor did the people filing past, smiling down at the pair, whispering ‘Merry Christmas’ to Scully, who could only thank them with a gestured, raised hand and a low, inaudible ‘Merry Christmas’ in return.

Waiting until the church was half-empty, she was about to start waking Mulder up when she caught sight of the priest crouching down beside her in the aisle, “apparently, I was not as inspiring as I could have been. I’ll have to do better next year.”

He said it with a wide grin, however, and Scully, knowing his sense of humor from the last few months, smiled back, “you did wonderfully. It’s just he was at work out in the woods at five this morning and only got the chance for a short nap before we came here.”

“I always tell the children that God doesn’t mind if they fall asleep while saying their prayers. It means they had a fulfilling day and feel safe enough to drift off giving thanks. I think the same applies here. A hard-working man does his best but eventually feels safe enough and happy enough to fall asleep with the one he loves, even if it’s the middle of mass.” Standing back up, “I take that as a compliment for both God and myself.”

Scully’s eyes desperately wanted to fill with tears but she swallowed them down, “Merry Christmas, Father.”

“Merry Christmas, Ella.”

&&&&&&&&

Soon, they were snuggled down in bed, Mulder’s mouth drifting across her neck, more asleep than awake and promising nothing but a moment of clarity to tell her he loved her and Merry Christmas. Nuzzling him back, she tucked herself into his arms, thinking about how, in the morning, it would be Christmas and he would see the ornament she’d carved for him and she’d find out what was in that square box he’d wrapped for her several weeks back.

But first, she was going to go to sleep, warm and cozy under their flannel sheets and thick comforter, the one with the crop circle pattern that Mulder had indulged in when they realized they’d be north for the winter. The single string of red Christmas lights strung over the bathroom door frame bathed Mulder’s face in holiday hues and with a final kiss, she shut her eyes, his heartbeat carrying her into slumber beside him.


End file.
